God Bless My Soul, Woman, The More

One Never Quite Allows For The Moron In Our Midst.

I Really Cannot Understand The Point Of What You're Saying. Really,' Said Clotilde, Looking At Her. 'what A Very Extraordinary Person You Are. What Sort Of A Woman Are You? Why Are You Talking Like This? Who Are You?' Miss Marple Pulled Down The Mass Of Pink Wool That Encircled Her Head, A Pink Wool Scarf Of The Same Kind That She Had Once Worn In The West Indies. 'one Of My Names,' She Said, 'is Nemesis.' 'nemesis? And What Does That Mean?' 'i Think You Know,' Said Miss Marple. 'you Are A Very Well Educated Woman. Nemesis Is Long Delayed Sometimes, But It Comes In The End.

I Looked At Her. Sheila Was My Girl--the Girl I Wanted--and Wanted For Keeps. But It Wasn't Any Use Having Illusions About Her. Sheila Was A Liar And Probably Always Would Be A Liar. It Was Her Way Of Fighting For Survival--the Quick Easy Glib Denial. It Was A Child's Weapon--and She'd Probably Never Got Out Of Using It. If I Wanted Sheila, I Must Accept Her As She Was--be At Hand To Prop Up The Weak Places. We've All Got Our Weak Places. Mine Were Different From Sheila's, But They Were There.

Best Of An Island Is Once You Get There - You Can't Go Any Farther...you've Come To The End Of Things.

Ideas Are Like Everything Else. They've Got To Be Marketed.